In the Dark
by JudyH
Summary: Sam arrived too late to save Dean in his battle with Metatron. But what happens next? Picks up where the season 9 finale left us hanging. Major spoilers for "Do You Believe in Miracles?"
1. Chapter 1

**In the Dark**

"Life isn't easy from the singular side  
Down in the hole, some emotions are hard to hide  
It's your decision, it's a chance that you take  
It's on your head, it's a habit that's hard to break" - Billy Squier, _In the Dark_

His knees were aching, circulation in his legs almost gone from what felt like hours, crouched on the cold stone floor. After reading the incantation for the third time, Sam rose stiffly to his feet, his anger smoldering like the dying embers in the chalice before him. With a furious kick, he sent the bowl and its repugnant contents flying across the room.

"Where the hell are you, Crowley?"

He paced, back and forth, from wall to wall, smoking remnants of ingredients he preferred not to think about scattered like dust under his feet. Tears of frustration burned his eyes as Sam stopped at the doorway that would take him down the shadowed hallway to _that room_. The room where the battered, bloody body of his brother lay, silent and cold. The room he could not bring himself to enter again, once he had sat and stared and cried and raged and pleaded with any entity that would listen, to no avail.

So, he had dragged himself to the library, pouring one drink after another, until he realized he was drinking from Dean's favorite glass. Then the alcohol had surged back through his system like liquid fire, and Sam had spent the next twenty minutes puking his guts out and crying like the girl Dean would obviously accuse him of being.

The decision to summon Crowley was an easy one. The hard choice would be whether Sam would kill him on sight, or bargain...once again...for a deal to bring his brother back. But, like so many events in the younger Winchester's life, this decision was out of his hands as well, as no amount of chanting and casting of spells would bring the King of Hell to the Batcave.

Out of options and dangerously close to losing his composure once again, Sam clenched his fist and threw a wild roundhouse swing at the stone wall. Inches from impact, an iron grip grasped his arm and swung him around. Crowley stepped back as Sam turned on him, fire in his eyes and steel in his voice.

"Where...have you been?" Sam advanced on him, but Crowley stood his ground.

"I'm not your personal assistant, Moose. I do have other things to do besides being at your beck and call." Crowley glanced around the room, eyebrows lifted at the disarray scattered across the floor. "What, no devil's trap this time? No _enchanted_ handcuffs?"

"No."

Crowley studied him through narrowed eyes, then nodded to himself as he strolled leisurely across the room. As he reached the doorway, he stopped, glancing down the hall before turning back again.

"You know, you really should get better writers. You can't just keep recycling the same old script over and over. The fans will turn on you, you know."

"What the hell are you babbling on about, you son of a bitch?"

"No need to get nasty," Crowley said as he kicked a blackened bone fragment out of his path; it clattered against the upended spell chalice and rolled away. "I just think you Winchesters need some fresh material, that's all. I mean, you die for him, he dies for you. It all gets rather boring after a while."

"You think I want to make a deal." Sam released a strangled laugh that turned Crowley in his tracks. The demon looked genuinely puzzled as he returned Sam's unblinking stare.

"Well, of course you want to deal. That's what you two _do...consistently. _I could make more money betting on the Winchesters than I did on the Kentucky Derby. And believe me, I made a killing on that."

"That's where you're wrong." Sam's voice was steady, his eyes clear and cold as he advanced on the demon, who involuntarily took a step back. "This time, _you're_ gonna deal with _me_."

"And why would I? You..._humans..._make the deals. That's how it works." Crowley turned away with a smile that turned Sam's stomach and tempted the grieving brother to retrieve the smoking chalice from the floor and crush the smirking demon's skull.

"Because if you don't fix what you did, I will spend the rest of my life tracking you, until the day I finally put you down. And that's not an idle threat."

"What I did?" Crowley chuckled and shook his head. "I gave your testosterone driven brother what he asked for. He wanted the First Blade; I told him how to get it. Not my fault he wasn't up to the task."

"You son of a _bitch_..." Sam took a step toward Crowley, fists clenched and voice shaking. "You knew what the Blade and the Mark would do to him. You should have told me...you should have told _him_."

"I did. Maybe not soon enough, but I did." Crowley paused, then tilted his head as he continued:

"Just a few minutes ago, in fact."

Sam stared, speechless, for a long moment as the demon's words sank in. "What? What did you s-say?" Sam barely recognized the voice as his own, as the words tumbled out in little more than a whisper.

"You thought I didn't come when you called." Crowley strolled over to a shelf and casually examined a brass paperweight, lifting it and turning it in his hand. "I came. I just paid your brother a visit first."

"Why? To gloat? To..." Sam felt the anger rising inside him again. "To celebrate?"

Crowley ducked his head and when he looked up, Sam could have sworn he saw...something...sympathy, perhaps...in the demon's eyes. Then it was gone as Crowley slowly shook his head.

"Actually, no. Believe it or not, Moose, I was rooting for your brother. Always did like to see an underdog come out on top. But you're not paying attention here." He stepped closer and fixed Sam with an unblinking stare. "I spoke to him. Not to the corpse you dragged in here. I spoke to _him_. Just a few minutes ago, in fact."

Sam felt his knees go weak and for a moment, he thought the demon was about to reach out to steady him. "He's...alive? You brought him back?"

"No."

"Then what..."

"it was the Blade." The demon said. "How do you think it has survived all these millenia? It finds a host and it doesn't let go. A Biblical parasite, you might say."

"But..." Sam hesitated, not sure he wanted to hear the answer to his next question. "Dean's alive?"

"In a manner of speaking," Crowley said.

Sam moved toward the doorway, only to have Crowley block his way. "You do understand that what you're going to find in that room is not your brother."

"Get out of my way," Sam growled, but the demon stood fast.

"Before you go down there," Crowley said, "Think this through. Think about what you're going to see. Remember what happened to Cain when he surrendered to the power of that blade. Think about what he became."

"A demon." The words slipped out before Sam could stop them. He took a deep breath, looked over Crowley's shoulder to the hallway beyond, and then slipped past him to the door.

"He's my brother." Sam said. "He's alive and right now, that's enough for me."

He stopped in the doorway and glanced down the hallway, taking another deep breath before glancing back at the demon. "By the way, once I see that you're not lying to me, I'll be back, and you _will_ fix this. Because I _did _lie to you about something."

"Oh, really?"Crowley's smug expression had returned as he crossed his arms and returned the younger Winchester's stare.

"I said no devil's trap, but actually..." Sam pointed to a faint line just outside the door. "That whole room is a devil's trap. So make yourself at home, 'cause you aren't going anywhere."

In any other situation, the anger that suffused Crowley's face as he cursed and turned away would have been a satisfying source of satisfaction for Sam. But, as he walked slowly down the hallway toward his brother's room, Sam had already dismissed the demon's plight from his mind.

He had a brother to save.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

The closer Sam got to Dean's bedroom door, the slower his steps became. By the time he reached the doorway, the younger Winchester's knees were failing him and there was an uncontrollable tremor in his hands. He paused, back pressed against the frigid stone wall, suddenly unable to catch his breath.

The impulse to run to his brother was automatic, instinctive, as soon as Crowley dropped his bombshell (_he's alive...he's alive)_. The self appointed King of Hell had intimated that Dean was not himself anymore (_in a manner of speaking, Crowley had warned)._ The possibility that the Mark of Cain had transformed him into something unspeakable was a small point to Sam. Both of them had been to Hell, for God's sake. They had seen and suffered through unimaginable horrors, and had, somehow, survived. Whatever lay beyond that door, whatever had been done could be undone. They had done it before.

Sam took a steadying breath and moved to the door...the door that was now closed. _Please, please don't let it be locked._ He placed a shaking hand out and it swung open.

The room was dark, shadowed and cold. Sam blinked to hasten his night vision; he could have sworn the lights were on before; now only the light filtering over his shoulder lit his way. His breath caught as he barely made out the rumpled, bloody bed where he had tenderly placed his brother's body a few hours before. It was empty now and Sam felt his heart catch. A snapping sound drew his eyes to the right, where Dean's desk occupied the far corner of the room. He recognized the sound of the antique lamp Dean had discovered in the library and promptly claimed for his own when they moved in. A light flared in the corner and Sam blinked, his eyes promptly filling with tears.

_...snap...snap...snap..._

Dean sat hunched in a faded office chair, his back to the door. He gave no indication that he was aware of his brother's arrival. The light flared on..and off...and on...and off...as Dean's bloodied hand snapped the switch back and forth. Each flare of the lamp briefly illuminated his silhouette: head bowed, shoulders stooped, and then the light would go out momentarily and the room would fall silent except for Sam's stuttered breathing.

Sam wanted to speak, _tried_ to speak, but the words wouldn't come (_there aren't words, Dean had said once.)_ If it was true, if what Crowley had said had actually happened (_and there he is, alive, so you do the math, college boy), _what could he possibly say? How would he stop his brother if he tried to leave, if he attacked Sam in a demonic frenzy or...God help him...if he didn't even _recognize_ Sam anymore?

So, he took one tentative step into the room, watched his brother's hand go still on the switch as the light died away and the shadows crept across his unmoving form. _What the hell is the deal with the lamp? _He took one more step; unsure in the near darkness how close he was when Dean's hand moved again and the harsh _snap_ flooded his pale, swollen face with an artificial, ghastly glow. He seemed to be staring directly into the blinding light, unblinking, unfocused, and seemingly unaware of his brother's approach.

When Sam leaned forward to take another step, Dean's hand shot out from the desk, palm out toward his brother in an unmistakable signal to stop. Sam froze, so many thoughts tumbling through his head, none of them making out through his trembling lips. Finally the only words that mattered came out in a voice so strong, even Sam was surprised:

"Dean...I'm here."

to be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you**** so much for the follows and the feedback. It means more than you will ever know. **

**A short chapter here, with more to follow soon:**

**In the Dark**

**Chapter Three**

There are certain things in life that are a certainty, not to be altered by man or God. Death and taxes, of course, although death, grim and terrifying as it may be, fell into the "been there, done that" file for the Winchesters. Taxes...well, flying under the radar with no discernable means of income meant that was not an issue either. Going into a hunt unprepared most certainly meant winging it and hoping for the best. Any other events the brothers had lived..and died...through were fluid, unpredictable.

One thing Sam Winchester had always been able to know with unwavering certainty, through good times and bad, through pain and death, anger and reconciliation, was how his brother would react in any given situation.

This was not one of those times.

He stood, silently watching his brother's profile in the flickering light of the desk lamp, waiting for a response (_"Dean..I'm here."). _A full minute passed with no indication that his brother heard him, other than the bloody hand that had warned him back now lay still upon the lamp switch, as if ready to plunge the room into darkness again and dismiss his anxious, waiting brother from his presence.

This was his brother, back from the dead, and yet...Sam suddenly wasn't so sure. Having his brother plucked from the grave was a gift, but there was a terrible price attached. The only question was which of them would be the one to ultimately pay it.

Dean had yet to look in Sam's direction, but Sam knew his brother was aware of his presence. Just as he took a shaky breath to speak again, Dean turned his head slightly toward him and Sam waited. A voice he barely recognized, like ground glass on concrete, finally uttered the last words Sam expected to hear:

"Why did you do it?"

"W-what?" It was not the question the younger Winchester expected: not "How?" or "What happened?" He hesitated, unable to answer a question he didn't understand, and before he could speak again, Dean had moved with unnatural swiftness, out of the chair, bloodied hands around Sam's neck as he pinned him against the wall.

"Why did you..." Dean's grip tightened around his brother's neck, nails clawing into his skin. " Why did you do _this_ to me?"

"Dean..." Sam wrapped both hands around his brother's forearms and pulled, but his hands slipped in the blood coating his brother's skin and he gasped as the chokehold pinched off his air supply. " I didn't..."

Their eyes met and Sam flinched at the sight of bottomless black that stared back at him. Then a powerful fist filled his fading vision, followed by a crushing blow that slammed his head back against the stone wall. The last thing Sam saw before his vision faded altogether was the snarling face of his brother as he drew back his fist for another blow.

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

**_"_**You never listen to the voices inside**_  
_**They fill your ears as you run to a place to hide**_  
_**You're never sure if the illusion is real**_  
_**You pinch yourself but the memories are all you feel"-In the Dark, Billy Squier

**In the Dark**

**Chapter 4**

"Sam? Sammy?"

Dean's voice sounded...strange. Sam wondered what was wrong, and when he opened his eyes, or the one eye that _would_ open, he remembered why.

He was lying on the cold stone floor, curled on his side like a child. His face felt swollen and tight, and as Sam rolled over with a groan, blood that had pooled in his mouth slid down his throat. It took several tries before he was able to sit upright and spit the copper tinged goo onto the floor.

He slid backward until his shoulders met the footboard of Dean's bed. Only then did he blink the fog of unconsciousness from his eyes and track his brother's voice to the far corner of the room.

Dean was sitting in the shadows in the opposite corner, arms wrapped around his knees, watching him with hooded eyes. The rest of the room was now brightly lit, the lamp lying on its side on the floor, as was everything else that had previously been arranged neatly on the desktop. It looked like a tornado had swept through the room. It looked to Sam like rampages Dean had gone on in the past, usually when he was furious with something beyond his control. Sam had seen it before, had been the catalyst for a few of the destructive episodes himself.

He blinked furiously, but with his raging headache and one eye almost swollen shut, he couldn't clearly see Dean's eyes. Or maybe Dean was intentionally not letting him see them by maintaining his distance and shifting his gaze to the floor by his feet. Sam wasn't sure if he was ready for what Crowley had warned him he would see: the black, bottomless, soulless eyes of a demon? _Demons lie_, Dean had told him countless times, and yet Crowley had no reason to lie to Sam. _Not when the truth was worse._

"Why did you do it?" Dean repeated the question from earlier, before he had gone ballistic and decided to beat the crap out of his brother without waiting for the answer.

"I tried..." Sam coughed and spit out more pink tinged phlegm before continuing. " Tried to tell you before. I didn't do this..."

"Don't lie to me."

"It was the Mark." Sam sat up slowly, leaning forward in a vain attempt to meet his brother's eyes. "It took hold of you and wouldn't let you go."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Dean's voice was hollow, grainy, as if he had been shouting for some time.

"How do you think Cain survived all this time? It needed him to survive. And...it brought you back." He took a shaky breath, staring at the brother he had no hopes of seeing alive again, just a few hours before. "But I'm glad."

Dean still refused to look up, but Sam saw his shoulders tense and his fists clench. "What did you say?" His growl took Sam by surprise; the anger so palpable in his voice that Sam realized he needed to choose his words more carefully.

"You were...gone, Dean. You were gone and I...I couldn't help you. But...now you're here, and maybe I can."

Dean fell silent for a long moment, then finally, slowly, looked up and over at his brother. Sam met his gaze, his breath catching as the reflection of bloodshot, but intimately familiar green eyes shone back at him. _Crowley lied...damn him, he lied..._

"No, he didn't," Dean said softly as Sam realized he had spoken his thoughts aloud. "This is what I've become." He lowered his head, and when he looked back at Sam again, eyes black as charcoal fixed Sam with a macabre stare.

"God..." Sam breathed as he stared, transfixed at the sudden transformation.

"Not even close," Dean replied.

Sam felt his brother's gaze sweep over him, cataloging his injuries, and yet Sam saw no concern, no remorse in Dean's face. It was like being stared at by a stranger.

"I want you to get out of here."

Sam shook his head, immediately regretting it as the room tilted and nausea surged up his gut. "Not going anywhere." He swallowed bile and blood, blinking to clear his vision. Out of the corner of his functioning eye he saw the Blade, lying between them on the floor. He saw Dean's hooded eyes drop to the weapon as well. When their eyes met again, shimmering green had replaced the frigid black once again.

"Sammy, I could have killed you." Dean's voice sounded almost normal, almost..._human_.

"You didn't. You won't."

"Not me, but..." Dean swallowed, holding his hands out in front of him for Sam to see. His knuckles were swollen and bloody, and Sam knew not all of the blood was from his brother's fatal injuries. "This..._thing..._I can't control it. I already hurt you. I can't promise you I won't do it again."

"I'm not asking for a promise. I just want you to give me a chance to help you."

"_No."_

"Why not? I can do it, Dean. _We _can do it. You just have to …."

In an instant Dean was on his feet, looming over Sam with such a predatory expression that Sam involuntarily flinched away. Dean was breathing hard, fists clenching as he stood over him. "It's too late, Sam." His eyes were lost in his battered face, and yet Sam could tell the light that had been there a moment ago was gone.

"You can't fix this. What's done is done, and..."

Sam knew what his brother's next words would be before they left his lips. His whispered "_No,_" was drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears as Dean flexed his hand and the Blade lifted from the floor and slipped into his blood stained palm:

"What's dead should stay dead."

s*s*s*s*s*s*s*s

Sam didn't remember staggering to his feet, or stumbling out the door into the hall. For a terrifying moment, his addled brain wondered what he would do if Dean decided to just walk out the door and disappear. Then he remembered that Crowley's current abode wasn't the only room surrounded by a devil's trap; all of them, every room in the bunker, was encircled by the protective markings. That might have had something to do with the destruction Sam had seen upon awakening: Dean had forgotten he couldn't just leave the room now and he was pissed.

Somehow he found his way to his own room, holding onto furniture until he grasped the edge of the chipped porcelain sink in his tiny bath. Once again he gave in to the sickness that burned his throat and squeezed fiery tears from his eyes. He couldn't breathe...he couldn't _think_, and finally he let gravity have its way with him as he sank slowly to the cold tile floor.

Some measure of time passed as he sat, staring blankly into space. Finally, Sam pushed himself to his feet, swaying drunkenly as he waited for the room to right itself. He found himself looking into the mirror, impassively cataloging the damage his brother had done.

His left eye sported an impressive bruise, almost completely swollen shut. Dried blood caked his nose and lips, trailing down his chin and under the collar of his shirt. He touched his cheekbone gingerly; it felt hot and tight but thankfully no bones shifted under his hand. His forearms were blackened and bruised from his vain effort to shield his face from Dean's blows, and one finger felt broken. He didn't need to touch the lump on the back of his head to know it was there, twisting his scalp like a belt pulled a couple of notches too tight.

_Could have been worse. He could have killed you._

Despite his denial to the contrary, Sam knew this to be true. Something inside his brother had snapped, but something else had held him back, dousing the fire of his anger enough to allow him to pull back before it was too late.

_Too late._

Dean said it was too late, and, God help him, Sam was afraid he could be right. His reminder that they knew how to cure a demon now had been rebuffed immediately. This wasn't the brother he knew and loved; the guardian and protector and hero of Sam's childhood...hell, his entire _life_. The Dean he knew _never_ gave up. He survived the nightmare of their upbringing, clawed his way out of hell, fought his way out of Purgatory. And most importantly, he never gave up on Sam: the brother that rejected their life, that lied and deceived and betrayed his trust time and time again. Dean had pulled him from the edge more times than he could count, and it was time that Sam showed his brother that his efforts truly meant something.

As Sam washed away the blood and dabbed at cuts with the rough towel, he gazed at his reflection again and came to a decision. His track record at saving his older brother in the past was a sad one; good intentions with piss poor results.

This time was going to be different. This was the end game: not the forty years in Hell, not Lucifer, or Purgatory, or the aborted trials to close the hellgates. Saving Dean from eternity as a demon would be the final test of Sam's true worth, because if he failed this time, nothing else mattered. Nothing he had done or would ever do in his life would be as important as this.

Sam stopped long enough to exchange his bloody shirt for a clean one before stepping to the doorway. He paused, glancing down the shadowed hall toward the room where his brother was most certainly plotting a way to make his escape. Sam had no illusions that Dean would quietly bide his time and wait for his brother to come up with a plan to save him; again, his track record on that spoke for itself.

After taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, Sam turned in the opposite direction, his footsteps echoing as he approached his destination.

He had work to do.

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

**In the Dark**

**Chapter Five:**

Sam sat back from the table, groaning as his back popped with the movement. He wiped ink smeared hands across his burning eyes, peering wearily at the disorganized piles of books, ledgers and files that surrounded him.

All day and into the night he had dragged out tomes of records, anything and everything in the bunker's archives that might hold a clue as to what he...or more precisely, Dean...was dealing with. To keep from falling on his face with exhaustion, Sam would, periodically, walk the damp, dark hallways leading to his captives' rooms.

Demons, apparently, didn't sleep. It was something Sam should have remembered from his dalliance with Ruby. He hadn't paid too much attention to it at the time; Ruby slept and ate when she wanted to, but not because she _had_ to. Each time Sam had checked in on Dean, the older Winchester was, for lack of a better word, _busy._ Sometimes he was pacing, muttering to himself and tossing a few choice, obscene words Sam's way. Other times he sat quietly, holding the First Blade reverently like a child. Those were the times Sam had to step away from the doorway and keep walking, bile rising like fire in his throat, praying the Devil's Trap would hold him and wanting to throw up at the thought of having to use it on his own brother.

But the times that twisted his gut the most were the times when Dean would meet his gaze and nod slowly, his eyes their normal, crystal green hue, as if telling Sam he understood his imprisonment, and that his little brother was doing the right thing.

Farther down the hall, it was a different story. Sam felt his anger rising like a tidal wave each time he approached Crowley's door. The self appointed King of Hell had made himself comfortable in a ladder back chair, feet crossed at the ankles and a sickeningly smug smile on his face. The fact that Crowley would probably snap his neck if he entered the room was the only thing that kept Sam from going in and venting his anger on the demon's smirking face.

Sam was beyond exhausted and he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. But before he could attempt either, he was drawn to walk the hallway one more time. He paused outside Dean's door, silently watching as Dean stopped pacing the perimeter of the room and turned to face him.

"How long you planning on keeping me here?" Dean asked, his voice monotone, expression blank.

"You got somewhere to be?" Sam leaned against the doorway, careful to stay outside the protective circle.

"I can't stay here." Dean resumed his restless pacing around the room. He glared over his shoulder at Sam. "I can't...I can't _breathe_."

"This is the best place for you right now," Sam said. His brother's answering growl left no doubt about Dean's opinion of that observation.

"This your version of a panic room, Sammy?" Dean turned to face him, his face twisted in a sneer and his eyes once again obsidian black. "Looking for a little payback for the times I locked _you _up like a rabid dog 'til you sweated and screamed out the demon blood? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, it ain't gonna work this time."

Before Sam could reply, Dean was in his face, the toes of his scuffed boots mere inches from the perimeter of the Devil's trap. He grinned as Sam flinched and stepped back. "You scared of me, little brother?"

"No."

"Bullshit."

"Look," Sam took a steadying breath and forced himself to meet his brother's macabre stare. "I'm gonna..."

"Fix this?" Dean threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, vicious sound that made Sam's mouth go dry. "YOU can't fix this. Nobody can."

"That's where you're wrong."

Sam watched his brother extend his hand toward the Blade lying on the desk. It vibrated against the wood for a moment, then levitated into the air and into its master's waiting hand. Dean turned again toward the doorway, his expression morphed from venom to contentment in the space of a few seconds.

"Like it or not, Sammy boy, this is how it is now. This is me, this is what I am..."

"_No..._"

"And if you know what's good for you, you'll just keep out of my way."

"I'm not letting you out of here, you know that."

Dean shook his head. "It's only a matter of time. I'll get out."

"And go where? Why won't you give me time to find a way out of this for you?" Sam stepped forward, his frustration overwhelming his common sense. He saw his brother's eyes blink, heavily, their familiar green hue back again, almost glowing in the harsh fluorescent overhead light. Their eyes met as both brothers realized Sam's mistake at the same instant.

"Sammy... get out." Dean had backed up against the far wall, the Blade still clutched in his hand.

Sam instinctively glanced down, saw his feet planted well within the demonic circle. He looked up, saw Dean's white knuckle grip on the blade's curved handle, his shoulders shaking.

"_Get out...__**now.**_"

Sam wanted...needed...to believe his brother wouldn't hurt him. But this was not his brother. This...creature... in his brother's body could kill him in an instant...could have already done so, if not for the supreme effort of willpower Dean was exhibiting now. There was enough of Dean left, somewhere beneath the Mark's control, that was giving Sam the time he needed to escape, to step out of the Devil's Trap where Dean couldn't follow.

Sam backtracked, staggering backwards until his shoulders collided with the stone wall outside Dean's room. He wanted to simply slide down the wall, collapse there, but he kept his knees locked, his sweaty palms flat against the stone of the hallway. He felt Dean's eyes on him but refused to look back into the room. He turned toward the library, placing one foot in front of the other until he reached the doorway of his own room.

Exhaustion pulled Sam toward the bed he hadn't used since bringing his brother's body home countless hours before. Bitter tears of frustration burned his heavy eyes as he collapsed onto the rumpled covers, the sound of his brother's demonic laughter echoing down the hallway as he finally closed his eyes.

To be continued...


	6. Chapter 6

My apologies for the long delay in updating. I have learned my lesson: never start posting before the story is completed. But, three surgeries and a month of convalescence behind me for my husband, and I have finally found time to get back to this story. Thanks for hanging in there; I promise to do better from here on!

**In the Dark**

**Chapter Six**

Sam awoke some time later, his body stiff and face aching and tight from the beating earlier. He had no idea what time it was; his watch said 2:41, but whether it was morning or afternoon was impossible to tell inside the bunker. He stood in the shower until he felt himself drifting off again, then stepped out, mechanically going through the motions of getting dressed as if it were any other day. _As if..._

Ignoring the lure of his computer and the haphazard stacks of books, he wandered into the kitchen and forced himself to eat. Four aspirin and a half pot of coffee later, he felt ready to face the day.

First stop was the doorway of Dean's room, where his brother sat, First Blade in hand, idly carving gashes into what was probably a priceless mahogany desk. When it became painfully obvious that his brother...if that's what he was now... was pointedly ignoring him, Sam sighed and plodded slowly down the hall.

He paused in the doorway of what had become Crowley's prison cell. The King of Hell sat, ankles crossed and pen in hand, frowning over a yellowed sheet of newsprint folded over his lap.

"I say, Moose, this one has me bloody stumped." He waved the paper in Sam's direction. Sam caught a fleeting glimpse of an inked smeared checkerboard square in the corner before the demon folded the paper precisely again and smoothed it out against the crisp lines of his suit. "What's a nine letter word for 'deliverance'?"

Sam stared a moment: "Are you serious?"

"Ah, well..." Crowley returned his glare without blinking. "Never did care much for word games, anyhow."

"We need to talk." Sam said.

"Here to make a deal, are you?" Crowley sat back in his chair with a smirk. " My bread and butter. So talk."

"No deals. I need information and you' re gonna give it to me."

Crowley tilted his head as if he were considering it. "Sounds like a deal to me."

"I want Cain's location."

The demon blinked, a surprised expression on his face. "You want what again?"

"You heard me."

Crowley was shaking his head before Sam finished speaking. " That has to be one of the worst ideas I have ever heard you come up with, Moose. You don't want anything to do with him. Hell, _I_ don't want anything to do with him."

Sam drew himself up to his considerable height in the doorway. " I didn't ask you what you wanted. I know you know where he is; you took Dean there. I want you to take me there."

Crowley rose from his chair and circled around it, shaking his head. "Why? You think he's going to offer to take back his Mark, if you flutter your lashes at him and ask nicely? He carried that curse for thousands of years and now he's free of it."

"Exactly," Sam said. "He's your run of the mill demon now, which makes you stronger than him. You could force him to take the Mark back."

Crowley exploded in laughter, pacing around the chair again and wiping his eyes before turning back to face the younger Winchester. "You have totally gone off the deep end if you think that's ever going to happen. He might not be supercharged with the Mark anymore, but he's still an ancient, powerful demon. I like to think of myself as fairly impressive myself, but..."

"But you're scared of him," Sam goaded.

"You're damned right I am, and for good reason." Crowley settled back into the chair and picked up the crossword puzzle again. " Picking your battles is how you stay on top. Besides, even if you could cancel out the Mark's hold on your brother, there's still the little matter of him being a full fledged demon now to deal with. Way above your pay scale, Sam."

"One battle at a time, Crowley, like you said." Sam stepped back from the doorway. "I know you think you and Dean are gonna team up and be best buddies, but you should consider this." He leaned back into the doorway again, inches from the protective demon's trap etched into the stone floor.

" Dean has never been one to take orders. He leads...he doesn't follow. How long after you two escape from here...and I know the two of you will figure something out sooner or later...before he decides to depose the King and take over the throne himself? And you know with the power of the Blade and the Mark, he will."

Sam stepped back, a satisfied smile crossing his features at the sudden, sullen look on his adversary's face. "If you leave here with Dean, he'll cut you down the first chance he gets. If you work with me...well, I think you'd have a better chance with Cain. You think about it."

Sam turned to leave, then stopped and looked back into the room where Crowley sat, his eyes hooded and hands tightly gripping the brittle newsprint. "Salvation." he said.

"What are you babbling about?" the demon growled.

"A nine letter word for 'deliverance'," Sam said over his shoulder as he walked away.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**This is short, but more to follow very soon! Thanks for your patience!**

**Chapter Seven:**

Slumped at the library table, Sam stared wearily at the haphazard stacks of books in front of him. _So much information, and all of it worthless_. He resisted the urge to just get up and walk away from it all, from the bunker and his brother and his _life_, because hadn't _that_ just worked out so well in the past? It was several seconds before the buzzing of his cell phone dragged him back to the present. He stared at the text display and the name displayed there for a moment, before sprinting up the stairs to unlock the door.

The figure framed in the doorway was dusty and disheveled, and possibly the sweetest sight Sam had beheld in a long, long time. He reached out and grabbed the man in a hug; after a moment the hug was stiffly returned.

"Sam," Castiel said as he awkwardly patted the taller man's back. "I was not sure I would find you here."

Sam huffed a pale imitation of a laugh as he ushered the angel inside and locked the door. "Where else would I be?"

The two men descended the stairs; Castiel watched as Sam poured an unhealthy amount of Scotch into a tumbler and downed it in one long draw. Sam watched as Castiel's eyes swiveled around the room, knowing what his next question would be, and dreading putting the answer into words.

"Where...is Dean?"

Sam stared into the empty glass and sighed. "How much do you know?"

"Metatron said he was dead."

When Sam looked away and didn't respond, Castiel stepped closer, trying in vain to catch the younger Winchester's gaze. "Tell me that is not true."

"I wish I could."

Castiel studied him for a long moment, then: "There is more."

Sam's face twisted into a sad smile as he pushed the glass away and sat wearily in his chair. "Yeah. There is."

Castiel sat down at the table and listened as Sam recounted the events that led to his brother and the King of Hell being imprisoned in demon trap protected cells in the bunker. The angel remained silent until Sam presented his plan to have Crowley take him to Cain.

"That is a very foolish thing to consider," Castiel said as he rose from his seat to stare down the hallway over Sam's shoulder. "Cain is more dangerous than any demon you have faced before."

"More dangerous than Dean will be if he gets out of here with Crowley and takes the Blade with him?"

Castiel stared him down: "More dangerous to you."

Sam stood, towering over the angel, but Castiel held in gaze in defiance. "There is nothing you can offer Cain that would make him take back the Mark. "

"Then give me another option, Cas, 'cause right now I am fresh out of ideas." Sam found himself back at the bar, with the tumbler in one hand and the half empty bottle in the other. "I need your help. Dean put his ass on the line more than once for you. The least you can do is help him now...help _me_ help him." He turned, the empty glass still clutched in his hand.

"Please."

Castiel stood a moment, thinking. Then he turned toward the hallway, nodding to Sam as he passed.

"I guess you want to talk to Dean? Good luck with that," Sam said as he fell in step beside the angel.

"No," Castiel replied. "I want to talk to Crowley."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

We are well into season ten now. I intended to have this AU story done much sooner, but real life and major computer hassles have plagued me. Thanks so much for those who have stuck with me...here is a short chapter, with more to follow soon:

**In the Dark: Chapter Eight:**

"Well, well," Crowley smirked as Sam and Castiel appeared in his doorway. "If it isn't Dumb and Dumber." His haughty attitude took a hit when Castiel crossed the perimeter of the demon trap without missing a beat, stopping inches from the flinching demon's nose.

"You have Cain's location. You will take us to him."

"The _hell_ I will!" Crowley stepped back from the angel, shaking his head. "Once a millennium is more than enough for me." He paced to the far side of the room, gazing over Castiel's shoulder at Sam, who stood safely out of his demonic reach in the hallway. "You've made more than your share of suicidal missteps, Moose, but this one wins the prize."

"It was _your_ idea to take my brother to Cain in the first place," Sam growled. "You started all this. And you're gonna fix it."

"Bit too late for that, now, isn't it?" Crowley said, studying his nails with a tilt of his head. "Better to make the best of the situation. He's lost to you now; best you accept that and move on."

"We will not." Castiel stepped forward again and this time Crowley stood his ground. Sam started to move forward, but an angelic hand held out in warning stopped him.

"You want to leave this place. I can arrange that."

"What the _hell..." _Sam stepped forward again, and again was stilled by a fierce glare thrown his way, this time by the demon.

"Let Fluffy talk. I've never made a deal with an angel before." Crowley tilted his head in an exaggerated pose of attentiveness. "This could prove interesting."

"You take us to Cain, and I guarantee you your freedom." Castiel said. "Refuse, and I will personally assist Sam in making this bunker so demon proof that you will never see daylight again."

Crowley studied the angel with hooded eyes, all amusement gone from his expression. After a moment, he nodded. "I'll tell you where he is."

"No deal," Sam said. "You go with us, and you wear these." He held up the demonic handcuffs, dangling them from one finger. "And if you try something, you'll be wearing them for eternity."

With a deep sigh, Crowley held out his hands, and Sam tossed the cuffs into the devil's trap at Crowley's feet.

"Cute," he growled as he bent, retrieved the charmed cuffs and slipped them on his wrists. "Do you have something in gold? It goes much better with my eyes."

"Shut up," Sam said as he knelt in the doorway and pried one of the stones from the threshold. With the line of the demonic trap broken, he stepped back as Castiel marched from the room, followed by an uncharacteristically solemn Crowley.

"If you think you can bargain with Cain, you're sadly mistaken," the demon said. "he's free of the Mark for the first time in eons, but he's still more powerful than any creature you've ever met. I think I got the best end of this bargain."

Sam fell into step behind the angel and the demon, refusing to respond when they passed Dean's room and his brother called out to him. He caught Castiel's sleeve as they entered the library and pulled him to the side.

"Cas, what you said about making Crowley's room so secure that he could never get out...can you do that?"

"Yes, at least for several of your lifetimes. It might not be permanent, but..."

"I don't need permanent." Sam glanced down the hallway again. "Can you do that for Dean's room? At least until we get back?"

"I will." The angel turned on his heel and strode back down the hall. The muted voices of his brother and the angel echoed faintly; in several minutes he was back. "Your brother will be here when we get back."

Sam smiled. "Thank you." As they herded Crowley up the stairs, Sam looked back at Castiel. " What did Dean say to you back there?"

Castiel reached the landing and opened the door. " He wanted to know where we were going."

"What did you tell him?"

"Road trip," the angel replied as he led them out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

**In the Dark**

**Chapter Nine**

The ride to Missouri was a surreal one. Sam drove, uncomfortable behind the wheel of the Impala where his brother usually sat; Castiel rode shotgun, staring morosely out the window as the drab monotony of the plains flew past. And Crowley pouted, spouting his displeasure at being relegated to the back seat every chance he got, rattling his cuffs at odd moments until Sam threatened to toss him into the trunk.

The closer they got to Cain's farm, the thicker the atmosphere in the car became. Crowley had fallen ominously silent, while Castiel began shifting nervously in his seat. It was enough to tempt Sam to put them both out on the side of the road and continue on alone. As they turned onto a winding, dusty road and the farmhouse loomed in the distance, Castiel suddenly reached out and grabbed Sam's arm.

"What the hell, Cas?" Sam tried without success to extract his arm from the angel's iron grip. When he glanced over at Castiel's pale face, he stopped the car, a fog of dust enveloping them before settling a fine layer of dirt across the Impala's hood.

"I have to get out."

"Carsick, are you, mate?" Crowley grinned from the back seat.

"Shut up," Sam said as he leaned over into Castiel's line of sight. "What is it?"

"I cannot enter here." The angel leaned forward, peering into the distance at the unassuming house nestled under ancient oaks, silent and peaceful. "There is...something...powerful...angel wards...I can feel them. I cannot enter this place."

Sam frowned as he leaned back in his seat. Castiel, weakened as he was by his failing grace, was still a formidable ally to have by his side in his confrontation with Cain. Now that option was gone, leaving him with only a panic stricken demon staring wide eyed and slack jawed from the back seat.

"Looks like it's you and me then, shortie," Sam almost laughed at the gasp from the demon as he shut off the ignition and climbed out of the car. The humor was short lived, however, when he recalled Dean's brief but ominous version of Crowley's cowering demeanor in Cain's presence. If the King of Hell was intimidated by this immortal demon, things could go very badly, very quickly.

Crowley climbed slowly from the car, reaching for Sam's sleeve as he walked past. "This is a terrible, terrible idea..."

"I heard you the first ten times you said it," Sam growled. "Now hear me: I'm not here to fight him or challenge him. I just want to talk to him. If anyone would know how to get that damned mark off my brother, it would be him. And I meant what I said about those cuffs. They stay on until this is over."

"You're going to regret this," Crowley muttered as they walked slowly up the drive. "You're in way over your head, Moose."

"Wouldn't be the first time, probably won't be the last," Sam said as he straightened his shoulders and pushed the reluctant demon in front of him as the house loomed into view.

Sam stood on the porch, unsure whether to knock or just wait for the demon to sense their presence. He felt sure Cain knew they were there, and a moment later his suspicions were realized as a deep voice hailed them from behind.

"No need to knock. You're not welcome here."

Sam and Crowley turned as one, their backs against the front door as Cain glared up at them from the bottom step. " Demon, you were warned once never to come back here. And once again, you bring a hunter to my door. I have turned stronger demons than you into dust for less."

Crowley lifted his hands and jingled the enchanted handcuffs that held him prisoner. "Not my choice, you see, sir. I tried to warn him."

Cain took another step onto the porch and Crowley stepped discreetly behind Sam's back. Sam held his ground and returned Cain's stony glare.

"So you're the brother, eh?" When Sam nodded, Cain stepped around him and opened the front door. "If you're as persistent as Dean, you aren't going to just go away, so you might as well come in." He studied Crowley through narrowed eyes. " I don't want you in my house, but better you than that angel you left down the road, so you might as well come in, too." He leaned over the demon: " Don't. Touch. Anything. Understood?"

Crowley swallowed loudly and nodded, bowing his head as he followed Sam inside.

"No need to sit down," Cain said as they entered the cozy living room, "You won't be staying that long." He shook his head as he stared at his two unwelcome visitors.

"You know, I had planned to leave here after your brother's locating spell brought him, and a host of demons, to my door. But then I thought: why should I be the one to run? This is my home now, and surely," he shot an icy glare at Crowley, who refused to meet his gaze. "Surely no one would be foolish enough to come back here to find me again."

"If you know who I am, then you know why I'm here," Sam said in an effort to divert Cain's attention back to the reason for their visit, before Cain decided to vaporize Crowley just for the hell of it.

"I know why, and I truly don't care," Cain said. He turned his back in dismissal and ambled into the dingy kitchen, lifting a cracked drinking glass up to the light. "I have given you more time than you deserve. Leave." He turned on his heel and leveled his icy glare on the two men.

"Now."

Sam sensed Crowley's cowardly shift toward the door, but kept his eyes on Cain. He had no need of him now that he and Cain were face to face; what he wanted to hear from the ancient demon would better be left out of Crowley's information base, anyway. He still wore the demonic handcuffs, so Sam knew he wouldn't go far. He waited until the front door clicked softly behind him and Cain stepped forward.

"You have a death wish, boy?"

"No," Sam said. "I'm not here to challenge you. I just want to talk."

"Cain snorted and turned back into the kitchen. "You don't want to chat, boy. You want me to undo what I did to your brother."

"And I want to know why," Sam said, watching warily as Cain reached into a creaky drawer and withdrew a wicked, rusty knife. "Why you chose him. There had to have been others, all these centuries...others who tried to take the Mark and the Blade from you."

Cain paused, turning the blade in the light before reaching into the sink to toss several ears of fresh corn onto the table. " Nothing grows here but corn. I've tried, but everything else here dies. Even my bees are dying. I wonder why that is." He settled into a chair, placing the knife down as he started shucking the corn.

"You're right, you know." He raised the knife, cleanly slicing off each end of the cob. "There have been others, many others. They thought they could just take the Blade and the Mark." He glanced up with hooded eyes. "They failed. All of them. But Dean, he was different."

Sam's mouth suddenly went dry. "Why?"

"Because he asked for it."

Sam blinked, stunned by the answer. " He didn't know what he was getting himself into."

Cain nodded, his attention back on the growing pile of corn under his hands. "Probably not. But he was the first person who planned to do good with it. Killing Abbaddon was a noble mission. He understood the risks."

Sam stepped forward and Cain's hands stilled. "You didn't tell him everything. You didn't tell him what it would do to him."

Cain placed both hands on the table and slowly stood. "I told him there were great risks, that using the power that comes with being marked came with a great price. He made his choice; what happened after that is not my concern. Now leave."

Sam stood his ground and held the demon's gaze. "I can't. There must be something I can do."

Cain studied him for a long moment, wiping his hands on a dingy towel as he came around the table. Sam blinked but held his gaze, a trickle of cold sweat creeping down his backbone as he wondered how much longer Cain's patience would hold out. He frowned when a knowing smile crossed Cain's face.

"You've heard the story about how I got the Mark?"

Sam nodded. "The biblical story says you were marked by God, but Dean said you told him a different story."

Cain snorted, walking past Sam to retrieve a bucket from the counter. He returned to the table and swept the shredded leaves and cobs into it, setting it down on the table before replying.

"The Biblical story, that's all it is, a morality tale. I made a deal with Satan to save my brother's soul. Sound familiar, Sam?" He picked up the knife, dropping it into the sink. " From what I hear, Lucifer marked you, too, am I right?"

"Marked? No..." Sam's heart skipped a beat, not liking the direction the conversation was taking.

Cain stepped closer and Sam involuntarily took a step back. "Yes, boy. He marked my body, but Satan marked your soul. I' ve heard all about you: the boy of destiny who freed Lucifer from his cage and was forced to sacrifice himself to put him back in." He smiled, showing crooked teeth rotting from centuries of neglect. " Sounds like an interesting story. Maybe you'll share it with me sometime."

Sam felt the blood rush from his face, his heart pounding in his throat. Cain laughed, a short, nasty sound that rose gooseflesh on Sam's arms.

"Well, maybe not." Cain smiled as he turned away, busying himself with the vegetables again as if Sam were no longer there.

Sam took a deep breath and stepped forward. He knew he had been dismissed, but until he was forced to leave, he was determined to have his say. "You didn't ask for the Mark; you didn't have a choice. I know there were a lot of...things...that happened because of it, things you wouldn't have done otherwise." He watched the older man's back as he continued to work at the table. Cain didn't reply, but he hadn't vaporized Sam yet, so the younger Winchester decided to push his luck.

"This is your chance. You can do something right now, make up for the things you can't go back and undo"

"Why should I?" Cain said, his voice muffled and flat.

"My brother...he doesn't deserve this. He...he's a good man," Sam knew he was floundering, but desperation was thickening his voice and clouding his resolve. "He's spent his whole life saving other people. He always puts everyone else first; he's always taken care of me. What he is now...it's not him."

Cain turned, jaw set and eyes cold. " You think he's a monster."

Sam fell silent and Cain nodded. " You two have made monster hunting your life's work. And now?"

When Sam remained silent, Cain stepped forward and this time, Sam held his ground. "Tell me, Sam Winchester: If it comes down to it, and your brother is truly one of the things you hunt, what will you do?"

Sam lifted his chin and held the demon's gaze. " I won't kill my brother."

Cain leaned forward, his breath stagnant and cold.

"I did."


	10. Chapter 10

**In the Dark – Chapter Ten**

**Where we left off in chapter nine:**

"_My brother...he doesn't deserve this. He...he's a good man," Sam knew he was floundering, but desperation was thickening his voice and clouding his resolve. "He's spent his whole life saving other people. He always puts everyone else first; he's always taken care of me. What he is now...it's not him."_

_Cain turned, jaw set and eyes cold. " You think he's a monster."_

_Sam fell silent and Cain nodded. " You two have made monster hunting your life's work. And now?"_

_When Sam remained silent, Cain stepped forward and this time, Sam held his ground. "Tell me, Sam Winchester: If it comes down to it, and your brother is truly one of the things you hunt, what will you do?"_

_Sam lifted his chin and held the demon's gaze. " I won't kill my brother."_

_Cain leaned forward, his breath stagnant and cold. _

"_I did."_

Sam felt Cain's eyes boring into his and had to look away. For the first time, the man's cold aloofness had given way to an expression of soul crushing pain, just for an instant. When Sam glanced up again, Cain had stepped to the window, his grizzled face once again set in stone, the moment gone.

"What you did," Sam said, pausing as his host's fists clenched. When Cain remained silent, he continued: "I don't have that kind of courage."

"Courage?" Cain threw his head back in strangled laughter. "Is that what they call it?" He turned and the anguish of centuries shone in his eyes. "I committed the worst kind of sin. I deserved the curse, the isolation and everything that comes with it."

Sam studied the ancient being in front of him, then stepped forward. "You think it should have been you."

"I _know_ it should have been me!" Cain roared. "He was a better man that I ever was. He was seduced by the devil, by his filthy promises, and by the time I found out, it was too late."

Cain stomped past Sam into the living room, oblivious to the stricken look in Sam's eyes as he strode past. Sam held onto a rickety kitchen chair as Cain's words took his breath and made him suddenly lightheaded. Their stories, the biblical Cain and Abel, and the current day Winchesters, held too many similarities to be ignored. Their lives had been altered by pride, the lust for power, by sacrifice and death. Cain had been a man, once; his sacrifice to save his brother had condemned him to an eternity of banishment and pain. Now Dean faced that same fate through no fault of his own, other than his never ending quest to save others, to do the right thing.

He moved to the doorway, watching silently as Cain stared at a faded lithograph in his hand before replacing it reverently upon the shelf.

"I understand why you did it," Sam said. "I made a deal with Lucifer himself once, and I paid the price. But what if I told you you could do something good? That this is the right thing to do?"

"Then I would say _you_ are a demon, Here to make some kind of demonic deal, and I would burn you where you stand." Cain replied without turning.

"I know you understand me, too," Sam said. "You understand the lengths a man will go, to save his brother."

Cain turned and studied the younger Winchester with a sad smile. "Some things cannot be undone, boy. There is a saying: The end justifies the means. That is not always the case."

"Depends on how important the prize is to the warrior." Sam paused, sensing he had already lost this battle, the only one that mattered to him. He closed his eyes in defeat, turning slowly on his heel for the door.

"Boy," Cain's voice carried across the room as Sam opened the door, and the younger Winchester turned back, unable to hide the abject disappointment in his eyes.

Cain stepped forward, studying Sam with hooded eyes. "I may have had my immortal soul burned away years ago, but I do sympathize with you. I just do not think you realize what you are asking."

"I'm asking for help to save my brother," Sam said softly. "I would do anything for him."

"I know," Cain said. "And that is why I will not help you."

Sam's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the older man. "_Will _not? Then you _do_ know how to take back the Mark?"

Cain sighed and turned away, pacing back into the kitchen. "It is not the Mark that you should be concerned about. It is the Blade."

Sam frowned." Dean said you told him that, without the Mark, the Blade had no power."

"That is true." Cain settled himself into a rickety wooden chair before continuing. "If you were holding the Blade now, it would be next to useless for you as a weapon. But the Blade feeds off the power that the Mark siphons from its host. When your brother took on the Mark, he became a source of power for the First Blade. Do you understand?"

"I understand that Dean did something with that Blade that you were unable to do: he killed Abbadon." Sam said. "I know that means something to you. I think you owe him this much."

Cain rose to his feet, fury in his eyes. " What would you have me do? There is only one way to undo what your brother has done, and believe me, he would not thank me for it."

"Then tell me what to do."

Cain studied the younger Winchester with a sadness born of ages of suffering and guilt. "Very well," he said after a long moment. "I will tell you what I know. What you do with that information will be up to you." He motioned Sam to the faded sofa but remained standing by the wall as Sam slowly sat down. " Did Dean tell you what I asked of him in return for the Mark?"

"He said you wanted him to come back..."

"And kill me, yes." Cain stepped to the window, reaching up to wipe a smudge from the dusty glass.

"If I tell you what you want to know..."

Sam held his breath, finally releasing it as Cain turned to face him.

"Then I guess we will both get what we want."

Castiel stood motionless, staring down the dusty drive toward the house where his young charge had, foolishly in his opinion, gone to face down the Father of Murder. Crowley had returned, pale faced and shaken, and now stood by the Impala's trunk, sullen and silent. Castiel also remained silent, recognizing the futility of asking questions of the demon. And so, as the day faded to dusk, the angel remained vigilant, watching and waiting and feeling the all too human emotion of frustration a bit more than he knew he should.

As the last wisps of daylight slipped beneath the treeline, Castiel lifted his chin, watching the slowly approaching figure as he trudged across the field and down the dusty rutted road. He could almost sense the dejection in Sam's posture from half a mile away.

Sam lifted his eyes as he neared the car, his normally emotive face now reflecting nothing. Castiel frowned and stepped forward, but before he could speak, Sam wearily raised his hand.

"Not now, Cas," he said, reaching under his collar and pulling out a thin silver necklace. Suspended on the chain was a tarnished antique key. He slipped it over his head and motioned for Crowley to step forward.

Crowley remained by the trunk, his eyes hooded with suspicion. "That's it, Moose? You just let me go, just like that...no strings?"

"That was the deal."

Castiel studied the younger Winchester as well, stepping forward as Sam wavered unsteadily on his feet. Sam once again raised his hand to ward off the angel's help; he glanced once at the key and then motioned Crowley forward. Crowley held out his manacled hands and in a moment the cuffs slipped free.

Crowley took a moment to shake out the strangled circulation in his arms and to brush imaginary dust from his suit. "Just so you know," the demon smirked. "The next time you want to play dominatrix with me, wear leather. Flannel is such a turn off." He blinked flirtatiously at the stone faced hunter and then blinked out of sight.

Sam turned back to the Impala and eased himself into the driver's seat; Castiel rounded the car and took Sam's normal spot. He watched as Sam sat silently, staring back down the twilight shrouded road that led to Cain's house. Finally he could wait no longer to ask:

"Did you get the answers you were seeking?"

"Yes...and no."

Castiel tilted his head, his confusion obvious. "Dean says that sometimes I do not ask the proper questions. What I meant to ask..."

"I know what you're asking, Cas." Sam turned the Impala away from the dusty road and pointed it back toward the highway. "I know what we have to do now. And I...well, Dean... is going to need your help to make it work."

"I will do whatever you require of me," Castiel said.

"You might feel differently once I tell you what we have to do." Sam glanced over at the angel, who sat ramrod straight like the soldier he was and had always been. "I'll fill you in on the way home."


	11. Chapter 11

**Where we left off: **

_... Sam turned back to the Impala and eased himself into the driver's seat; Castiel rounded the car and took Sam's normal spot. He watched as Sam sat silently, staring back down the twilight shrouded road that led to Cain's house. Finally he could wait no longer to ask:_

_"Did you get the answers you were seeking?"_

_"Yes...and no."_

_Castiel tilted his head, his confusion obvious. "Dean says that sometimes I do not ask the proper questions. What I meant to ask..."_

_"I know what you're asking, Cas." Sam turned the Impala away from the dusty road and pointed it back toward the highway. "I know what we have to do now. And I...well, Dean... is going to need your help to make it work."_

_"I will do whatever you require of me," Castiel said._

_"You might feel differently once I tell you what we have to do." Sam glanced over at the angel, who sat ramrod straight like the soldier he was and had always been. "I'll fill you in on the way home."..._

**Chapte**r** 11**

The argument began long before they reached the bunker. Debating an issue with Castiel was like trying to win an debate with Spock; his stone faced logic and narrow field of focus left little wiggle room to work with. In the end, Sam simply stopped the angel's tirade with a firm hand on his chest as they approaced the bunker door.

"Cas, I hear what you're saying," Sam sighed as the ancient lock fell free and the door swung open.

"I find it hard to believe this is our only option," Castiel replied.

"But think about it,"Sam said as he latched the door and descended the stairs, angel consort in step behind him. "Cain has always known how to escape the curse of the Blade. He just wasn't able to do what was necessary." Sam turned to face the angel, leaning forward to accentuate his point. "We can."

"And if this does not work?"

"Then we're no worse off than we are now."

" Dean will not feel the same about that, should we fail."

Sam glanced toward the hallway that led to his brother's prison. "Then let's not fail." He moved into the kitchen, his every step weighted with fatigue as his boots dragged across the stone floor. "Would you go check on..." He glanced over his shoulder to find himself alone. "Okay, then."

Thoughts of a soft bed and a bit of sleep to refresh his soul sapped what remaining energy he had been riding on over the past few days. The thought of food turned his stomach, but one cup of caffeine would hold him until he checked in on Dean and secured the bunker for the night.

The warm, heavy scent of freshly brewed coffee had just begun to permeate the chill of the kitchen when Sam felt Castiel's presence in the doorway. He knew before he looked that something was very, very wrong.

"He is...unhappy," the angel said.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are a master of understatement?" Sam pushed away from the counter with a sigh. "Well, I guess now is as good a time as any to get this over with."

Castiel frowned but stepped aside as Sam approached. He placed a hand on the younger Winchester's shoulder, leaning forward in a vain attempt to meet his eyes.

"I do not agree with your theory," the angel said. "But I will do what you have asked of me."

At that, Sam looked up. "Thank you," he said softly. "You have your angel blade handy?"

"Always," Cas replied as the wickedly sharp weapon appeared in his hand.

"Well, let's get this party started, then."

Sam paused in the hallway a few feet from his brother's door. The voice emanating from the room sounded little like the Dean he knew and more like the obscene mutterings of the demon he had become. Profanities echoed off the cold stone walls, followed by the crash of something heavy.

"Sam," Castiel pointed to the threshold of the room. Shallow scores in the stone just inside the devil's trap perimeter bore witness to Dean's futile attempts to use the Blade to break the trap. Fortunately his reach had been scant inches from success, for which Sam was grateful. If he had been able to lift one of the stones and break free, Dean would have been long gone.

Sam glanced up and into the cold, black eyes of his brother, standing across the room, First Blade gripped in both hands like a samurai. " How was your road trip, baby brother?" he sneered.

"Informative."

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. "I doubt that. I know you went to see Cain." He took a step forward, swinging the ancient blade like a ball player standing at the plate. "I also know he didn't tell you jackshit. But enough small talk. It's time to let me out of here."

"You know that's not gonna happen."

"Oh, it's gonna happen all right."

The brothers stared each other down, neither flinching until Sam saw the blackness in Dean's eyes flicker and fade to their normal greenish hue. He watched as Dean tilted his head, studying Castiel over Sam's shoulder with a confused expression.

"What happened to you?" Dean asked, pointing to a copperish stain on the collar of the angel's white shirt.

Sam sensed Castiel's steadying presence behind him. "Cut myself shaving," the angel replied.

"And they say angels don't have a sense of humor,"Dean said, and the genuine concern in his voice was almost Sam's undoing. That tone, that look of concern...that was _Dean_. This was his brother, still fighting the demonic influence that threatened to drag him down into eternal damnation. And yet...this was not a fight that Dean could win alone. He needed Sam to fight it with him. He only hoped his brother would forgive him, after all was said and done.

"There's only one way you're leaving here, Dean." Sam wallked slowly into the demolished room, crossing the protective circle to stand inches from his brother. "It's your choice. If you leave here, you'll have to go through me."

One blink, and the fathomless coal blackness returned to the older Winchester's eyes. "That's all I have to do, bro? Just get past you and it's get out of jail free time?"

"Why is it so important to leave?" Sam fought the urge to step back, out of the range of the Blade that, for the moment, hung still by his brother's side. "You know I'm trying to help you..."

"I don't _need_ your help." Dean raised the weapon, the tip of the serrated blade now touching the center of Sam's chest. "What I _need_ is for you to step aside and let me pass."

"Sam..." Castiel spoke from the relative safety of the hallway. "This is not..."

"Stay out of this, Fluffy," Dean warned as he increased pressure on the Blade, smiling when his brother winced but held his ground. " Wait your turn."

"You're staying here until I say so," Sam said as he turned away. "So make yourself comfortable."

The slight widening of Castiel's eyes was all the warning of what came next. Sam ducked and turned back in a defensive stance, falling to one knee as the Blade swung in a vicious arc, inches from where he had been standing a moment before.

"I thought I taught you better than this," Dean growled as he stepped forward. "You never challenge someone you can't beat."

Sam scrambled back, still well within the perimenter of the Devils' Trap. He saw Castiel move forward to assist him, and waved him back with an impatient hand. "Put the Blade down and then we'll see who's the better man," Sam said, regaining his feet.

Dean threw his head back with a sinister laugh that chilled Sam's soul. "Better man? You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"That's your problem right there," Sam stepped to the side as Dean attempted to circle around him. "You've always needed a crutch, something to make you feel more like a man." He saw the smirk fall from his brother's face, his eyes now narrow and cold.

"You drank your way through how many days, Dean? Hell, how many _months_ did you pull your bravado from the bottom of a bottle?"

"Shut up, Sam."

"And now..." Sam paused to catch his breath. "Now it's that," he said, pointing to the Blade. "I'll bet Dad would be _so_ proud."

The next swing barely missed Sam's chest as he leapt away. "And so, here you are. You let the King of Hell turn you into...what? What are you now, exactly, Dean? Crowley's bitch?"

Dean moved with unnatural speed, fueled by demonic strength and unleashed fury. Sam glanced over his brother's shoulder at the anguished expression on Castiel's face, nodded once at the angel, and stood his ground.

The horrible serrated teeth of the Blade tore through the thin cotton of Sam's shirt and buried itself in his chest. At first there was no pain, only a suffocating pressure and then fire spread through the younger Winchester's belly as blood gushed from the wound. Sam gasped, feeling his knees weakening and realizing in horror that the only thing keeping him from falling was the Blade still gripped with bloody hands by his infuriated brother.

The room swam out of focus as he felt each and every tooth of the ancient bone as it slid free from his body. His support gone, Sam fell to his knees, his head nearly touching the floor as he wrapped his arms around his lacerated body. The floor came up to meet him, and as he fell, Sam heard the clatter of the Blade as it landed next to him. He felt hands lift his head from the warm puddle where his cheek had landed, and the last thing he heard before his eyes closed was the anguished voice of his brother, calling his name.

**To be continued...**


	12. Chapter 12

_You never listen to the voices inside_

_They fill your ears as you run to a place to hide_

_You're never sure if the illusion is real_

_You pinch yourself, but the memories are all you feel...In the Dark (Billy Squier)_

**Chapter 12:**

The pain started in his fingertips; a white hot sizzle of fire that traveled up his arms and into his chest. It burned like liquid fire in his veins; the heat blinded him and took his breath away.

Dean felt his muscles give way as the room blurred and the world tilted. He reached out automatically to catch himself and felt icy coolness against his palms as he sank to his hands and knees to the unforgiving stone floor. For a moment he thought he had died and his body just didn't realize it yet; muscle memory sending reflex impulses to a corpse. He was blind and deaf, his skin and bones and blood on fire. It felt like being electrocuted...again...and wasn't it a strange life he led that Dean knew exactly what that felt like and lived to tell about it.

His hearing was the first thing to come back online; the stuttered pounding in his ears he recognized as his own heartbeat, the rushing pressure in his chest his own gasps of breath. He blinked away involuntary tears of pain as the scuffed stones under his hands slowly swam into focus. But his brain was still several laps behind, his circuits scrambled. Somewhere in the distance, a voice seemed to be calling his name, but he couldn't seem to muster the strength to lift his head to respond.

The voice was closer now, and something...or _someone_...was grasping his shoulder, shaking him and speaking in a tone that demanded him to focus.

"Dean! I need your help."

_I'm trying...just give me a damn minute. I just died here._

"We don't have much time. You have to come back now, Dean."

_Come back...oh yeah...I died..._

An iron grip grasped both shoulders and pushed, sending Dean sprawling back onto his ass with a thump that jarred his teeth. He blinked, once, twice and finally the frowning countenance of his guardian angel swam into view.

"Cas," he rasped, throat dry, like sand scraping against rock. "What the hell..."

"Show me your arm."

"My...what?"

With an exasperated sigh, Castiel reached out and roughly tore at the fabric covering Dean's right arm. He attempted to pull away, only to feel the angel's iron grip as he pushed the shredded flannel up and lifted Dean's bare arm into view.

"Look at it, Dean. _Look._"

It took several uncoordinated moments for the rigid muscles in Dean's neck to respond...and another long moment for him to realize what Castiel was trying to show him.

His right forearm was smooth, the skin unmarked and clear.

The Mark of Cain...was _gone._

Dean stared, unbelieving what his blurred eyes were showing him. He glanced up at Castiel, who nodded in confirmation. "You are free, Dean."

"How did you..."

"I did not do this," the angel replied, releasing Dean's arm as he sat back on his heels. "I wish there had been another way."

Dean looked back down at his arm, his breath catching in his chest as he saw the drying rivulets of what appeared to be blood snaking down through his fingers to stain the now destroyed sleeve of his flannel. And at that moment, he _knew_. He knew, somehow, what had happened...and he remembered what he had done.

On trembling hands and knees he crawled around Castiel's crouching form, past the gore stained weapon next to him and across the bloodied floor to where his brother lay, curled in a fetal position, arms crossed over his mangled abdomen. Sam's cheek lay pressed against the stone, eyes closed, complexion bluish-gray, unmoving, unnaturally still.

"Oh God, no..." Dean touched Sam's cheek, brushed his tangled hair from his face. As he lifted his head from the floor, his brother sighed one last breath and his face relaxed, as if Sam knew Dean was there. "Did I do this?" Dean didn't recognized the strangled voice as his own.

Castiel attempted to pull Dean away, but a mighty shove sent the angel sliding across the room. "Don't touch him," he warned as he pulled Sam's head into his lap. "Don't you dare."

"I did not want this, Dean," Castiel said softly, wisely keeping his distance. "Cain told him how to release you from the Mark. Sam was convinced this was the only way."

Dean remained silent, his eyes closed, tears streaming down his face. After a moment, he raised his head and fixed despondent eyes on his angel.

"He...he made a..deal? Another demon deal? Damn it, Sam..."

"It was not a deal," Castiel said. "Cain knew all along how to release you...and him...from the Mark."

Dean stared down at Sam's lax features, relaxed in the macabre rigor of death. "Cain was a demon."

"He told us what to do, Dean. And it worked."

"Not like this...I never wanted him to d-do this." Dean lifted tear blurred eyes heavenward, as if to implore some higher power to help him. But he knew there was no help to be found there; there was nothing...except for the forlorn angel by his side, asking him to understand a sacrifice that was beyond anything he could comprehend.

"How do you feel, Dean?"

Dean stared down at the graying features of his little brother. "I don't k-know how to tell you how I feel," he whispered.

"That is good."

Dean glanced up with an incredulous expression. "Are you kidding me? I just k-killed my baby brother and you...you..."

"You feel human, Dean," Castiel said as he rose, bending to turn Sam's body so that he could lift his feet from the floor. After a moment, Dean gently lay Sam's head down, rising as well to lift his shoulders. As they moved the bloodied body to Dean's bed, Castiel leaned down to catch Dean's gaze.

"How long has it been since you felt...normal? Human?"

Dean sat down next to Sam on the bed, swallowing bile as the full damage to his brother's body was revealed. "I don't know," he said softly.

"The pain you feel now," Castiel said as he moved Sam's bloodied shirt away from the wound. "That proves that the evil power that gripped your soul is no longer in control."

"Can you...can you do...something? Anything?"

Castiel moved closer, finally placing a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder.""I promised him I would see this through to the end." He gazed down at Sam's features, then up into Dean's red rimmed eyes.

"You asked me earlier about this." Castiel gestured to his bloodstained collar. "I lied. I told you I cut myself shaving. I do not shave."

"I don't..."

"Sam did this." The angel hooked a finger around the collar to reveal an angry red gash on his throat. "He did it with my angel blade."

"Why?" Dean asked, his eyes still locked on the pale countenance of his dead brother.

"For his plan to work, we needed angel grace. I have little left, but I was able to give him some of mine." Castiel turned Sam's left hand over to reveal an equally vicious slice in the palm of his hand.

Dean finally looked up, puzzlement in his eyes. "Why?" he asked again.

"Cain's curse was nearly perfect. To break the curse, whoever wore the Mark had to use the blade again...to take the blood of a brother, freely given. Cain had slain his only brother, so the only way to break the curse..."

"Was to give the Mark...to another killer..." Dean whispered. "Like me."

"Yes."

"But...Sam had to die?"

"Yes." Castiel placed one hand against Sam's cold cheek. " He is dead, Dean. But he is not gone."

To be continued...


End file.
